metaphors:
Narrative shorts on the theme of spiritual development
VINCA’S DILEMMA
Chapter 1: « The heart that sought me out »
9th December 2024
At just five foot two, she had to persevere valiantly, reaching out again and again until the door hook finally yielded to her determination. Her triumphant cry, however, was short-lived, as she immediately stumbled over her own laces. Before she could even voice her indignation, she found herself plummeting into a void that felt like an eternity. The warm breath of the wind brushed against her cheeks, and her mind ceased to think of anything at all. There was only one certainty now, confirmed by the frantic rhythm of her heartbeat.
Vinca D’Aubigny was travelling through the tunnel of time... and her dearest dream was finally about to come true.
The fall was just as jarring as she had experienced before. Instinctively, she shifted her shoulder beneath her to break the impact, rolling expertly to the side. A sharp pain coursed through her body, yet she hardly noticed it. Vinca smiled, and a single tear slid down her cheek. Unlike the biting cold of the winter wind she had just left behind in her present life, everything around her was bathed in warmth and golden light. Juan-les-Pins stretched out before her eyes—not the lively seaside resort she had regretfully left behind a few years earlier, but the quaint and kitschy version of her childhood in the 1990s. Everything was exactly as it had been. The funfair was in full swing, the sky seemed to laugh with the children licking pink sugar from their candyfloss, and the old mechanical organ of the fortune teller, Marcel, echoed its mystical tunes. Slowly, Vinca got to her feet, her hand sinking gently into the soft, silky sand she knew so well.
In her current life, she had made a pact with a strange magician. In exchange for all her wealth, she would be granted a journey into the past. A single journey, and for a limited time. She could relive only one moment she deeply regretted and ardently wished to change. Wish granted! But the magician had warned her: one lives only once, and every experience remains unique. Should she attempt to alter even a single thread of the time she had already lived and lost, she would forfeit not only her current riches but all the wealth she had ever possessed in previous lives. With this cryptic warning, the magician had turned away, leaving behind the door to all curiosities. She had to ensure she chose the right one and made the correct decisions from that moment on. Enchanted and consumed by desire, Vinca had chosen. And now, here she was, landing in her hometown, searching for the one event she regretted most.
It did not take long for her to spot them, both of them, along her path. She knew exactly where to find them, which roads to take, which glances to avoid, which memories to elude. After all, travelling back in time had granted her the power of omniscience. She already knew the events that had transpired and precisely what awaited her there, where the wind raced wildly, and all dreams had once been forged. And suddenly, she saw it...
Like a vision from an ancient dream, Khedive was calmly grazing on the meadow grass. She felt a profound relief, as though she had shed the burdensome weight she had carried every day. Was it a past life she had cast off that day, or was it the man who had slipped through their grasp—hers and the mare’s alike? Vinca committed everything to memory, as though photographing the moment in her mind. She vowed never to forget, though she knew she could not weep. The entire universe had to remain contained within her, lest she lose both past and present. The gravity of her choice became increasingly clear, intensifying her pain. Yet this pain was incomparable to the lingering sorrow that had fed the turmoil in her mind since that fateful day. Moving gently, she ran her fingers through the golden mane of her childhood mare and rested her head against its neck.
"I never had the chance to say goodbye," she murmured.
(To be continued)
THE LADY & THE ZMEI
Chapter 3: « Thou shalt not slay thy other Self »
2nd December 2024
The Lady took three deep breaths, steadying her mind. The ceremony of sacred words was about to begin, and soon she would find herself descending into the darkness of the Dragon’s lair, with him accompanying her into the rabbit hole of her past miscreations. Neither of them felt ready for what lay ahead—what seemed less like a wish fulfilled and more like a firm sentencing. Yet this moment held the potential to reveal the beauty and realization of a wish so powerful that it had opened not only the doorways to pure love and destined togetherness but also to truths that had remained unpronounceable… until now.
This was her calling. He knew it instinctively. She would need to swallow her pride and take the first step forward. But her calloused feet, worn from endless journeys, rooted her stubbornly to the earth as memories surged forth.
A thousand stone steps she had climbed through a thousand mystical worlds. A thousand dragons she had challenged through countless portals. With each adventure, she had rescued a thousand crowns from a thousand dungeons. And yet, where were the Kings and Queens who owed her their allegiance now? Each had promised to guide her to that one moment, the event that had ignited her journey in this life. They had vowed—with utmost sincerity—that she would find herself reflected in the mirrors of the Heavens.
Yet even as she longed deeply for that moment of pure reconnection, she could not escape a growing sense of alienation. She felt like a stranger, appeased and sent back the way she had come. Nor could she tolerate the Self materializing in her life at this very moment. The Self that was the Other her—the one uniquely able to transfer wishes from one soul to another, even as she bestowed upon each blessed human the wish they most needed on Earth.
The Zmei was the Other.
The Zmei was not Her.
The Zmei could not continue to be Her.
The Zmei… was neither of the realm of the good nor of the realm of the bad.
A profound sadness welled within the Lady at this realization. Only darkness radiated from her whenever he breathed his transmutational fire. Unlike her past predecessors, she was not being purified. Her punishment, she now understood, was not to pronounce the unpronounceable but to see him—the Other—as another human, another part of the humanity she belonged to. He was another human relationship, one that depended on her just as much as she depended on him.
That was their middle ground.
It would not be a punishment, but a sacrifice of her Self. For the Zmei existed through her mind, and to liberate her mind, she would need to return the Zmei to the center of her world.
“I pronounce you as I pronounce myself,” she whispered.
The Zmei lowered his head respectfully.
“And I pronounce you as you were originally pronounced at the beginning of Time.”
(THE END)
THE LADY & THE ZMEI
Chapter 2: « In search of the stolen word »
25th November 2024
The Zmei was, in fact, a being that had been bathed in holiness from the moment that Earth first set eyes upon him. It had, as such, become his nature to protect those below from the wrath of those above and to shield those above him from the slanders of those who lived below. Yet, as a soldier borne of neither name nor heritage, his young claws had dug up roots into whichever lands they could possess. But alas, where there is holiness, there is always redemption, and his possessions had lasted only a few years at best, with mercy being swiftly granted, whether he had wished to be graced by it or not. The peak of the mountain had been the only place that had accepted him, to mother him back into the light. Through that light, he had met his shepherd, and thereafter, he had taken shelter under the shepherd’s wings. Out of gratitude for this rebirth, he had volunteered for the herculean task of becoming custodian of the gates that split the world known to the All from the world that begged to be known by all. He had defeated many warriors and seekers ever since, yet on this day, as he snarled fire through his nostrils, he felt frightened by this Achilles’ heel that no one had ever seemed to understand before. For to fight him meant certain death, but to gift him that which is most precious to oneself… that would open gateways into cosmic awareness that he was not yet ready to share with the world.
The lady spoke no more words to him, yet he could feel the intrusiveness of the many strange, unspoken, and perished tongues he had quelled with fire as they burned at the surface of his belly. Nothing could escape, though. He knew that, for he was a transferrer, and all that remained of what he had consumed were the bones and memories of those who had wished and wished and wished. The lady, however, was a gifter of wishes, and even though her wish had been a sacrifice of self, she absorbed and absorbed until the belly of the beast had been dominated, and she heard it all. The voices rang as crystal clear as the day that had blessed her. There was the sigh of the mystic, and there was the soundlessness of the sons and daughters of lore, and much deeper below, she heard the lamentations of the forsaken ones. But the one voice she craved to hear the most remained but a whisper, continually running farther and farther away from her. There was only one way out, and it was one she had dreaded would need to occur after she had valiantly gifted one of her three perfect wishes to the Zmei. They would absolutely need to meet in the middle, discover their common ground, find a spark to connect with. She would need to play the sounds of meaning from her world for him, and he would need to sing back the sounds of meaning from his world to her… but only if he accepted. For now, he remained this alienated stranger, who saw her as the sole persecutor of his land, yet deep down, she felt the same way towards him. They were of two completely different markers: human and ancestral.
The Lady took a deep breath. She would have to make her name pronounceable, and he, in return, would also need to make his name pronounceable.
Or so, she wished.
(To be continued)
THE LADY & THE ZMEI
Chapter 1 - « I gift you my wish »
18th November 2024
Unbeknownst to the villages shadowed by the brooding clouds of the mountain that preyed on them, the lady had managed to successfully pierce through its secret. And there she was tonight, enthralling the Zmei through her charm and unparalleled beauty. As they lay side by side on the sandy cushioning of the top cavern, they both found themselves laughing heartily until their aching sides compelled them to pause. Yet, neither expressed true commitment to the joy that was being expressed. Both remained unmatched in their capacity for wit and cunningness, yet neither could meet the other in the middle. There could simply be no common ground. Just as the Zmei was an enemy to the allegiance that the Lady held in the highest regard, the Lady was an enemy to the nether depths that the Zmei so earnestly protected. And so, they starred into each other’s eyes, eagerly waiting for the right moment to pounce and claim victory for the righteousness that they each thought they brought into this world. For the Zmei, there was little doubt about what his true intentions were. His role was to continually confront the unknown, to guard the darkness of his city so that no form of light could ever be maimed by it, and to create an upheaval in societies below whenever their weak systems faltered. The Zmei glowered. His dragon scales dug deeper into his flesh, masking the brute force of the flames that raged within his entire being and sought the destruction of this perseverant one from the realms of humanity. He had battled Princes, Kings, men of valour, and boys devoted to their homeland, but never—oh never—had he been challenged by innocence, softness, limpidity... femininity. The valiant males he had shattered to pieces had been nothing more to him than the pebbles at the bottom of a riverbed, but this lady… She was the powerhouse of water itself, and he knew she could burn down his flames into misery, meekness, and weakness if he so much as handed her a matchstick. Light it, she would, and she would do it with a simple click of her hand. One click, and the Zmei would know his true position in the world of Kings. To the Underworld, he was an unchecked moral challenge, and he enjoyed the feeling, as it gave him the illusion of mastery, of power, of pure governance over all the people he looked down on daily, perched atop his nest. Both the Zmei and the Lady had once been gifted three silvery threads by the Moon. Each thread linked to the world of the unmet. They could make a wish and be guaranteed its full realisation, yet each knew precisely what this meant… For to wish is to become conscious of worlds that had as yet only nestled within the realm of imagination. To wish is to make the unmet of the imagination become a Met, and many dragons before him, in his own lineage, had wished and wished and wished, and what had they eventually become?
“I’ll wish one of my wishes for you. I am gifting you my Voice.”
The Zmei turned around swiftly and slammed its tail on the ground. Serpentine spirals of red and gold flared through his nostrils, stopping only inches away from the lady’s feet. He was fully awakened yet clenched his jaw tighter.
Unperturbed, the lady reiterated: “It is what it is now. I have gifted you the gift of my Voice. Let us now speak of a journey—undertaken through my name. It is a path that only you can walk, but don’t believe it will be easy to separate your voice from mine. By giving you my voice, you now have my vision. Come, let us look at what is to be … together, as one.”
(To be continued)
CURTAIN RISE
11th November 2024
The brouhaha had reached its peak. Whispers, once meek, now travelled swiftly through the porticos and slipped toward the cylindrical windows that lined the glass ceiling. At the theatre of non-pretension, there were only two rules: one is either the mirror through which the intimacy of another will be revealed before the eyes of all, or the reverse of that same mirror, where this intimacy will be cloaked in its most absurd secrets. The mirrors on display would be the actors' performances, unveiling the stage of the current world to the spectators. The spectators, for their part, naturally represented the reverse of the mirror. In fact, this attribution was the cause behind all of the agitation of the evening. The idea of being able to step onto the stage without actually being part of it gave them the illusion of absolute power. They would judge, but would not be pointed at by their mirrored self. They would accept or reject the flaws presented to them. They were pampered with an array of choices. They could love or hate what was mimicked of their ways of being and becoming. They could grant their pity if needed, but would not be among those whom human civilisation would pity in return. Oh! What a sweet feeling it is to be sheltered from the gaze of others while oneself playing the role of the invisible voyeur. To be a voyeur means to deal a visible sentence, but a sentence that is meant to punish only the other. The puppets, along with those fine people of high society, rubbed their hands in glee. Eagerly, they awaited the raising of the curtain to take notes and raise their voices against the injustices they themselves had committed in the cycle of life. After all, the mirror was nothing but a carefully crafted set. The puppets had realised this long ago, but their rigid personalities no longer allowed for greater maneuvers. They had become accustomed to a specific role they had to play at each stage of existence, and had stuck to it since the beginning of the world. The fine people, however, were endowed with sentience and the ability to be present. Present in soul, sentient in spirit, but absent in consciousness. The puppets subtly pitied them. What would they not have sacrificed to possess the same gifts of free will as those unconscious humans? But such is human life. The puppet observes and criticises the spectator, who in turn observes and criticises the actor. However, none of these audiences had the awareness required to remember that they were all being watched.
The lights started to dim. The comedic act was about to start and all searched for the rank assigned to them.
And silence fell.
Seated at the back of the control room, the Divine Justiciar watched serenely as all three acts unfolded. He took notes on the actors' performances, but did not judge. He absorbed the presence of all, but offered no critique. He saw well beyond the play, but did not respond to it either.
In fact, there was but one question that had troubled his mind since the raising of the curtain had signaled an entry into a darker world.
Who had truly staged all this?
THE CHILD IS A PERSON
4th November 2024
The child was hardly listening to them. Absorbed by her drawing, she barely felt the sobs that landed boldly onto the smooth head that had been ravaged through the illness. She was going to die. She already knew that. She had told them as much, many, many times. But the adults hardly listened. A circle of black smoke tightened around the murmurs by her bed. Everyone was fidgeting: anger, distress, bitterness, bargaining... Prayers. The child prayed too, but her request was that they would listen to her, so she could finally tell her own story, the one she had shaped prior to being born. The one that, she was sure, would have offered the true path of healing to those she loved most. But no one was hearing her. No one listened. In fact, no one truly understood. They spoke of her story as if it had no bearings of its own; each person cast their own guesses and their narratives clung tightly to hope, but not to her hope, no. To them, she was "too little to understand," "too young for such a dreadful illness," "too unaware for grown-ups' discussions." Yet the main thread of her story was woven into her very flesh. The whispered conversations never ceased in her presence. She had been subject to her parents’ dreams, desires, and projections. From the moment that she had become a deeply loved, cherished and adored baby, she had carried a weight – that of a future shaped through her parents' devoted gaze, marked itself from their own origins. They had shaped her piece by piece, in spirit and in mind. And so it went. Our daughter, she "was going to be this," or "we’d do that for her," and often, "our daughter, she’s just like me and you, she has your eyes and my heart."
The child added the final touches to her drawing. She pressed a red crayon firmly onto her mother’s dress, meticulously filling in every polka dot. Mum was the one who made every foundation tremble through her determination, her harshness, her tenacity. Mum was the mountain that rumbled with each midnight. But Mum was also the one who was currently letting drops of tenderness and sorrow rain upon the child’s head. In the thread of her lineage, her feminine energy was stifled. It was the child who had thrown herself into the river so that the mother could live her story to the end. And yet, it is in mothers' nature to reach out and challenge the child’s comfort zone before the unthinkable occurs. Mothers teach, even when the path is lined with thorns. Would Mum one day understand this sacrifice? With this thought, the child replaced her mother’s eyes with two hearts.
She then picked up a navy-blue crayon and carefully filled in the outlines of her father’s shirt and trousers. “Papa Blues, today I too give you the gift of words.” And the little girl thought of her drawing, infusing it with wisdom and serenity. She would always remember the genealogical legacy bestowed upon her at birth. Ancestors always seeped through into the descendants they were linked to. They tugged this way and that, each one trying to guide their offspring in their own manner. The child thought they deserved at least some credit for their perseverance, and so she had accepted the task of welcoming their pasts and breaking down their pain through her own passing. In the story imposed upon her, her mother had dictated the paths for the family, while her father was merely the valve holding them all together. Soon, the valve would burst, and bridges would collapse. The child was more than aware of this. That was why she was making them this farewell drawing today. One that would hold the true seal of her own story, the one she would have loved to live in joy and peace alongside Mum in Red and Dad in Blues. If only they could listen... know that she still existed, that she was, herself, a form of existence, a true person.
The child added two angel wings to her arms. She had drawn herself in every colour of the rainbow. She held her parents' hands and soared above them, for she was soon to find herself in Heaven. The time had come. She felt emboldened. They would understand. They would accept. They would heal. Perhaps. One day. Maybe so.
And with that, she held up her drawing and turned with a smile towards the world of adults. Soon, she would find a pair of attentive ears and the rest would indeed be part of history.
THE ENCHANTER
28th October 2024
The enchanter had managed to place his orations to rest. Around him, a light of iridescent brilliance splashed over everything he gazed upon, and he also transformed all of it into light. At that precise moment, he knew it. Everyone found themselves blessed by the glory he had finally attained. Designated as the Savior, his heart now prayed on its own, without him having to ask for it. With his hands clasped under his chin, he strove to maintain his breath in balance, and yet… the entire Universe was coming toward him, deep within this heart he had continuously filled with love, forgiveness, and mercy. He was the universe of this universe, yet he knew nothing of this universe. Circles began to spin, generating distinct human spaces to heal: there were humans who had been banished from the kingdom, those who had hardened in the face of time's ravages, those who had lost their way in their memories, but most of all, those who had forgotten everything about their origins. It was these last ones that he had long sought. He considered them to be the most difficult cases to deconstruct, since for them, everything was merely a mask, costume, and mimicry. Peeling away the obsolete identities, certainly, but at what cost? One does not lose a life without leaving an indelible mark on the lives of those who will suffer from our suffering. One does not take another's life without also absorbing the pain we have inflicted upon them. Alas, those who have forgotten everything swim in a valve of amnesiac milk that offers comfort and warmth. And they often forget that they are the element of benevolence on Earth.
For without Good, how can one build and evolve in love, forgiveness, and mercy?
The Enchanter felt his gaze cross the circles to finally settle on a black point. It was a tiny black point, tawny and unstable, bubbling and growing in sight. This point was the end, the flash, the destruction, but also a revelation. Some humans shared the illusion of true love. These greedy lovers remained masters of their own cages. They sniff the scent of the rose to the fullest to better erase it from their hearts, thus retaining it for as long as possible within. This reality is sad, for they do not realize that the fragrance of the rose will always swell, whether it is captive or not. Such is the nature of Good. Such is the nature, plain and simple. And despite all the pain inflicted upon them, the roses continue to walk in the sky, dusting the clouds with their scent of peace. Yes, they were the embodiment of Good.
The Enchanter had not used any magical power during his journey. Magic is not reserved for redemption but for granting courage and valor to the knights who fight the true battle: that of Good against Evil.
It was time. He had understood. He was ready.
And with that, the Enchanter blew on his magician’s cloak and drew forth the white sword.
NIETZSCHE’S DILEMMA
21st October 2024
Nietzsche sat in a dark house.
And in that darkness, he found himself forced to rest his mind. And in that darkness, he sought out the flickering of the thoughts that had once bathed him with the light hope. Yet in that darkness, his eyes probed no more and slowly, he felt himself drifting back into the enclosure.
Nietzsche settled into the dark house, his body heavy with the weight of nothingness. This isolation was not of his own choosing, but he knew that somewhere within, the All had always existed. Now, it bristled around the gates of his mind, like shadows of envy. He reminded himself that the gate was unlocked. In the emptiness, all creation was but an illusion—yet still, he pushed and pushed. He needed his ancestral line to emerge, to incarnate, to feel, to be of the world once more. Idleness was winning, and he could not let that happen. Once his eyes had been robbed of the gift of their gaze, he had stopped looking through and had been falling ever since. With a sharp pain in his heart, the father understood he had lost sight of God for God would not sit with him in a darkened home. And a single tear fell from each eye as within the silence, he whispered: “In the beginning, there was Chaos …”
Nietzsche’s eldest son also sat in the dark house.
With both palms extended outward, he caught the father’s tears, cradling them gently. In that moment, he made a vow—a vow of transcendence. That which the father had carried as darkness, the heaviest of burdens in the line of sustenance, the son would obliterate through the sheer force of his divinely achieved intellect. And so, in the darkness, the son remained untouched, unmarked by despair. He breathed out soft wisps of hope, delicate and light, enchanting even the wind with their soft glow. In the darkness, the son’s eyes sought out life, sought out something beyond the nothingness that enveloped them. The Creator Instinct—the one buried deep within—stirred to life, reveling in the glory of what it could propel forward.
Hence, the son became Nietzsche. And as Nietzsche, he enlightened the dark house of his forefather. And the world rejoiced. Alas, the son had a well-kept secret. The light that was now Nietzsche’s had been borrowed from the skies and as the son gently nursed the ball of Sun that he kept hidden under his arm, he whispered back: “By the end, there will be only Light …”
And he handed the ball of Sun to his newborn daughter.
THE GIRL WHO SWAM AMIDST THE STARS
14th October 2024
In the light of the half-moon, the girl with vanilla eyes sighed as she finally saw the peak of this endless nocturnal journey appear. Fairy flickers now illuminated the path, slipping under her weary gaze and filling it with infinite light. She strained to listen with anxiety, becoming even more enveloped in a soft light filled with wisdom. The hunter's footsteps had evaporated with the mist. She could set down her suitcase, along with that diurnal melancholy that had been nothing but a heavy weight on her path. A sudden burst of joy crossed her mind, and she felt like a child in the sweet shop where her mother once bought her the little cakes sweetened with barley sugar that she particularly cherished.
Memory is a gift from heaven, for our memories heal us, cherish us, and carry us toward the beyond. And finally, the score of the milky sails allowed her heart to be reborn into life, into youth, into hope. The hazelnut-coloured cedars murmured, and with a flick of a magic stick, a fire appeared. It burned away all the curves that now projected across her path. She had conquered the Night and was the Queen-Walker in Light. Victory had the scent of honey, and she remained humble.
On the other side of the peak of the mountain, her soulmate awaited. Perched on the rocks, his hopeful gaze crossed the distance that lay between them, and the sky bloomed into a single bud. A wordless song filled the air. The mask had fallen, but a darkened cloak weighed heavily on his shoulders. He still had a long journey ahead, but he had chosen to push back the darkness again and again.
Above their respective crowns, the sun began to mirror them, and a ripple of solar waves urged the entire Universe to focus on their fate. The girl accepted Heaven’s offering, but it was only a tiny comfort gliding over her skin, beneath her pain…
The click happened. She was now swimming in a jar of starry milk. Purity, sweetness, glimmers… They all jolted and slightly curdled the cosmic canvas. Control took the first key to the fields and opened up all the fields of truth.
The prince with the vanilla gaze did not immerse himself in this blend. As they swam through their emblems, their memories wove into a single future. The stars now belonged to them and had become the masters of their universe. The Milky Way, for its part, was becoming increasingly golden. Other dreams remained to be explored, yet she stretched a finger toward the universe to silence any commotion, and silence fell.
For now, she wanted only to be the girl who swam amidst the stars.
BUTTERFLIES BY THE WATER
7th October 2024
It was a pristine morning in December, much like many others I had experienced throughout the years of my gentle growth. The storm had stilled the tears of the sea, and over a shadowless canvas of sand, three butterflies danced joyfully. With each twirl, they sang serenely:
"As long as you dream, life will rise with you.
As long as you hope, the wish will shine for you.
As long as you try, the path will light up for you."
To dream. To hope. To try. Amidst the path of life, I had lost myself in nameless temples, but time had always sought me out. In seeking to understand the past of my ancestors, my own self had fallen into the world of the ancients. But nothing had prepared me for the journey I was about to embark on this morning. Clinging to the heart of the island, I felt mists of prayer passing through my mind, but my thoughts wafted towards only one person… Encircled by the butterflies at the water's edge, our dear grandfather had calmed down but remained quiet. His lips were tightly sealed, holding back the words he so dearly wished to express. His light brown eyes, so similar to those of all his grandchildren present, constantly traced the path of the waves; that gentle sea water, caressing his feet lightly before curling into a plump foam that it would toss back unceremoniously. Out of respect for the grief he felt, he had chosen to slip away from the temple rather than succumb to a clash of values. And I completely understood him. I had a strong sense that our family had set us on the path of a damaged past. Grief is feral.
Further down the beach, a small gathering stood on the rocks. Draped in sunlit white, they busied themselves with the final preparations for a farewell. A priest-magician was fervently shooing the butterflies from the water’s edge while giving instructions. Withered rose petals, sliced green limes, broken coconuts… all of it now mixed with coconut milk and the sea’s froth. From the corner of my eye, I saw my father stick a few incense sticks into a handful of bananas, and I knew the prayers would soon begin. A few earthen lamps were lit and gently placed on the ashes, swallowed by a clay urn. A sweet scent of lavender rose from the incense, reaching our noses.
Grandfather didn’t move.
No one really knew how to reach him in that moment. We were all complicit in this pain and caused bitterness by choosing, in his place, the final departure of the person he had cherished most in his life. But as the priest-magician had so aptly said, "No one can escape our ancestral customs." Still, I felt a strong reluctance towards this kind of discourse, which I found cold and archaic. From the corner of my eye, I continued to watch Grandfather. He had made his fortune by defying the family’s destiny and blindly venturing to discover other lands and seas. Sometimes far from the island, at other times quite near, his journey was a fascination that turned heads, but in other circumstances, made others doubt of his sanity. And when he told his tales to all his grandchildren, it always seemed to me that I had followed in his footsteps, searching for myself within lost temples. Sharing the same name, after all, contributes to forging timeless bonds.
Grandfather didn’t move.
But our grandmother had been absent from our lives for quite some time now. And the butterflies whispered to me the essential truth: it was time to let go of the unspoken secret. The veils of hidden words lay flat at our feet, and it was our duty to face with courage this final tribute to our grandmother. So I extended my hand to the future and, through a single visible tear, imbued it with the desire to move forward, to conquer my grief, and to keep love alive, no matter what might come… This would be the final emblem I would engrave in my family’s name. I would be the unwavering star. We were one with the reflection of the sea, and we would be one with the stars in the sky that would soon shimmer on the water. The tangible present would surely return on another gentle December morning, and laughter would resound once again.
But for now, I respectfully fulfilled the role passed down to me by my grandparents, that of being the beacon of hope for others, just like a white butterfly brightening lesser blue skies.
THE SEVEN NATURES OF THESEUS
Chapter 7: Dormienti nihil est arduum
(Nothing is difficult for the one who sleeps)
9th September 2024
The Predator suffered in silence.
Equipped with his new ability to reason, his mind worked hard to detect the flaws in his seven natures, and the new heart forming within him made him experience, for the first time in his life, true strong and deep feelings… feelings drawn from love? Certainly, he had thought he loved in the past. He loved the pleasures of life. He loved having a good time. He especially loved his previous abilities to have everything, to consume everything, to take everything without that nagging feeling of guilt, of the capacity to feel or even reflect. The cruelty behind the predatory acts he had imposed upon each of his victims, solely to satisfy the masked beast that preyed on him in return, was a hard pill to swallow.
The Predator whimpered anxiously.
With his back turned to the bottom of the lake, he was floating whilst focused on the thick hues of midnight blue that colourred the stories unfolding beneath the sky’s velvet canopy. Over the horizon, shades of light blue appeared announcing the imminent arrival of dawn and of its Empress. Theseus had shown him the reverse of vice and what existed beyond the labyrinth, where a deprivation of virtue was what caused the most suffering. This had greatly astonished the Predator. The nature of predation is such that the other is merely convenience or utility. The other is what allows idleness in one to persist and to become essential for one’s quality of life. He had used the other as a gift offered at the sacrificial altar of the nature of predation, but just as he expected to be sacrificed himself, Nature had rejected his gesture. He could not die and return to Nature. It was Nature that had turned against him and now pushed him to float, resigned and anxious, awaiting the inevitable.
Judgment. Verdict. Sentence… Destruction?
Despite the warm breeze of a lovely summer night, the Predator could not help but shiver. He had asked for forgiveness, redemption, and even reparation, but his prayers were left heard. The Justiciar had not granted him a sermon; Mother Nature had not accepted that he return to her, and now the Empress had sounded the knell. An unbearable fate surely awaited him. Would he be punished further after being banished from his realms? Had he not been sufficiently punished through the anguishing thoughts and the incessant feeling of remorse that weighed down his entire being since his soul had been marked with the indelible seal of light?
On the other side of the mirror, Theseus was preparing the junk for their new mission. He was ready and had a heavy heart, letting go once more of his son whom he would not see grow up day by day, but whose entire destiny had been transformed thanks to his ultimate sacrifice. As requested by his Hierarchy, he had removed each of the Predator’s destructive natures with compassion, except for one. That last one. The one he was currently hearing and passively observing. Theseus threw a sack of provisions and a cask of water to the bottom of the vessel before boarding and taking the first oar. He smiled at Nepheus, who was also curiously observing the dark, hairy ball floating on the water and mumbling.
Waving his hand in farewell, he simply explained: “It was laziness that had weakened his mind. Now that he has his mind back, he will first need to weaken his own laziness… and from there, understand how to offer pure and true Justice to the worlds he has infected.”
And with that, he pushed the oar and headed towards other realms
(THE END)
THE SEVEN NATURES OF THESEUS
Chapter 6 - « Neither Schadenfreude nor Freudenfreude »
2nd September 2024
The sick Predator felt alienated from his homeland.
Rejected by the realms of his kin, the heavens, and mankind, he now wallowed in this voluptuous bog that felt like a senseless world. Stripped of five of the natures that once accompanied him in his capacity to reflect on meaning and indifference in his victims, he remained weary, yet his eyes were dazzled by the majesty of the vital and living energy that gently wove beneath his skin. Impulse. Instinct. Desire. This was what remained within him. This was his true nature. He envied what his own conscience could not offer him and desired what the consciences of others provided them. He no longer wished to devour them, to satisfy himself with their possessions, or even to revel in the intoxicating taste of the sacrifice of fathers and mothers defending the precious lives of their children... No, what he sought was still and always that which he did not understand fundamentally, that which he had no birthright to, that which others possessed in the form of the gift of life. He wanted life; he stole hope. But no, none of this could be considered sin. He acted by nature. He felt no pleasure during the act of stealing, destroying, or consuming. In fact, he did not know pleasure at all. He was a creature of impulse. Acting, eating, devouring, destroying, savouring, terrifying—these acts only served to fulfill the impulse's need to transition into silence and be appeased. His conscience had been blinded at birth. He was merely... a sick being conceived by the kings of predation. Was he then a predator or merely an image of predation? Did he embody his true nature, or did his nature camouflage itself as a puppet controlled by a force that surpassed who he truly was?
The predator had become a stranger to himself. He envied without understanding its meaning. Act, act, act! Act now! This is what his mind screamed at him. But for the first time since his conception, the predator had been nourished with reasoning. And he finally reasoned. To act, yes, but for what purpose, for what reason, and to whom should he offer satisfaction? Was he finally becoming a human prototype? To act, yes, to wound, yes, to terrorise, yes... but without knowing and, more importantly, understanding the deep motivations that drove him? The predator sensed the presence of the Justiciar by his side. He did not know if this foreign experience meant that he was finally undergoing an out-of-body journey and discovering his errors, his weaknesses, his limitations, and perhaps even... compassion? Tears flowed, but his heart crumbled. No, there was still no compassion. He did not understand its nature. The path would remain long and arduous. His capacity for reasoning was stifled by the predation need of the One who had been pulling the strings from the beginning. So then, who was responsible for all the beings whose lives had been destroyed? Himself or his predation? Was he his nature, and did he deserve punishment?
Moved, he dared to turn towards the presence of the Justiciar and spoke in a low voice: "I confess to you. I acknowledge in my mind my faults. I accept that I have wronged others. But everything was committed in a moment we call the present. The act was forged in the past, and repair will be made in the future. Everything in my being indicates that now would be the ideal moment to repent, to experience it, to feel it, and to act in order to repair... but what is repentance if my own conscience does not allow me to discern my true nature?..."
The Justiciar did not respond. He was a day-walker. Everything was fulfilled through his nature.
And the predator gained understanding... His sickness was attached to pleasure but not to him. Pleasure was attached to him but not to his nature. His nature... no, his nature was not attached to him. In the realm of puppets, he had become a stranger who had reached the summit of the strings.
(To be continued...)
THE SEVEN NATURES OF THESEUS
Chapter 5 - « Epicurian feast, repentant ascetic»
26th August 2024
Twilight was up yet unlike its usual soothing calmness, it had settled like a sharp blow at the feet of both Theseus and Nepheus. Nepheus had immediately taken his father's hand and hidden his face behind his shield. Unlike Theseus's solemn greetings, he remained alarmed and his piercingly blue-grey eyes opened wider letting through the symbolic reflection of his divine origins. And in that brief moment, the entire innocence of the child burst forth from the earth. After all, Nepheus had only known Mother Nature in all her splendour. She was the one whose gentle river sounds lulled him in the evening as he composed his orations, the one who taught him bravery and humility through the responsibilities bequeathed to him with each season’s change, and above all, the one who enveloped him in a cocoon of love each time the sun shone. But never, oh never had he known the exhaustion, pain, and disenchantment that Mother Nature was portraying. As initially requested by the Justiciar, Mother Nature had sacrificed her western coastline to nurture the sick Predator with ephemeral gifts. And she had found herself burdened and wounded, blow after blow. A brief moment of pleasure for the executioner and a lifetime of suffering for the sacrificed—such was the unfortunate result. However, it was this sacrifice that had allowed Theseus to remain invisible to the army of evil. He had followed the directives of the Andromeda star to the letter and was carried by the gentle breeze of the courageous Zephyr as the junk sailed through cave after cave of remains of villagers who had temporarily satisfied the sated belly of the executioner. And finally, he had reached the domain of the Predator prince himself, source of all the ills opposing the seven humano-divine natures. His first encounter with the Predator had actually surprised and embarrassed him. He had expected a demonstration of supreme intelligence but had instead encountered a series of seven caricatural structures that he found insipid and beastly. He had found the answer on the spot and had since hurried to destroy each of the Predator's caricatures through the most unexpected of powers: the ability of true nature to reclaim its place.
Theseus held his little boy’s hand and reassured him through his benevolent energy. He respectfully placed his weapons at the feet of the twilight angels and knelt. With his head bowed and his heart overflowing with love, he cast an observant gaze at the Predator and simultaneously began to ask forgiveness from all the elements of Nature...
On the other side of Theseus's mentalisation, he saw the Predator also lying in a pool of calm. His claws had completely melted after many attempts to reach him through the mysterious water. With arms spread wide, the megalomaniacal eyes of this prince turned creature were filled with admiration for the stars twinkling above him. Adorned in their finest nocturnal garments, they danced for the Sky and shared the wealth of their goodness and glory with all the peoples of the lower world. And the Predator wanted them. He wanted everything from the world, especially that which did not belong to him but seemed as grand as the false palace where he had made his home. But the more he wanted, the more his belly deflated. He released. He first released the peasants by bequeathing them his own lands and asking for their forgiveness. He then released the realms of the beyond and asked them for forgiveness as well. He released his own cowardly nature and asked himself for forgiveness. Yet he did not love himself. He did not know love. He had been enamored with what others had and with what he lacked within himself, but he had never known Love. Yet on that evening, the Predator felt a tear run down his scorched cheek and slip into his heart. And from the Heart of the Universe appeared the Justiciar...
(To be continued ...)
THE SEVEN NATURES OF THESEUS
Chapter 4 - « Speak like Stentor, Wade through Stone »
19th August 2024
Theseus lightly brushed the corner of the rusty gate with his callused fingers. Barefoot, he was gradually letting go. He felt at peace in the midst of untamed and fervent nature. It had not allowed itself to be tainted by the detritus of the non-humankind and had mastered each battle that dared to be waged at its doorstep. Embraced by the earthy warmness that only Mother Nature could bestow, Theseus allowed his mind to wander, feeling calm and rejuvenated. As a sailor who had made the sacred promise to restore the last of the civilised, he had pushed his body’s strength to the limit and had feared the worst during seven long years. The whims of the sea ogres had terrified him time and again, but whenever death sought out his young life, the alliance of Heaven had appeared. He had been protected, cherished, transformed. And he felt only immense gratitude on this day.
Out of the corner of his eye, he smiled at the sight of the lost shadow of his only child. Nepheus, a son born in the space between the realm of divinity and the realm of humanity, was the precious image of the symbolic parts of the same beam of light, and with every beat of his soul, a bit more love was created on this ground onto which the Father finally walked. Theseus gathered his son's shadow and heart, carrying them within him like a precious crown. Nepheus, meanwhile, was on a hill scattered with cotton stalks, a creation that had manifested from Theseus's mental faculties where he had found a way to protect his family’s identity during his many journeys. Whenever he needed to, he would join them in his mind, the only sound and enlightened mind of the crew of sailors he had once been a part of. Far from the lair of the strange and the presence of the sick Predator, Nepheus’s heart would only evolve in humanisation, which was what Theseus had sought. His family would be part of the new world of humans, a world of superhumanised beings where Love would reign and civilisations would be founded only on the principles of Justice and Goodness.
In the distance, they heard the thunderous roar of the Predator. He had personified fury and was shaking the very foundations of the lair. He scratched, slapped, and growled like a raging storm, but with every swipe into the water, the claws continued to shrink. In the end, only the azure blue of the sky and sea remained around him. His scars began to burn his skin. Nepheus turned to his father with curiosity: “But why did the man need to entertain such a loud voice to be heard?”
Theseus took a moment to reflect on the question before announcing to the fairer world he had just restored:
“Who speaks with a stentorian voice, wades through stone.”
(To be continued)
THE SEVEN NATURES OF THESEUS
Chapitre 3 - « From the Brew to the Vortex »
12th August 2024
The faint light from the half-moon flickered as it slipped through the wall of the endless labyrinth. Encroaching black clouds vainly attempted to scratch its cheeks, but their efforts were rewarded only by transforming into white flames that purified everything in the path. Avarichio and Avarichia had engulfed themselves and were buried within a rotund prison, with two cylindrical windows showing their snouts. Despite their painful sentence, the twins continued to sniff at the sweet vanilla-scented air that surrounded them. They had boasted of their excesses throughout their young lives and could now no longer stop sniffing. It was unfortunate for the sick Predator to realise that a proposal of overindulgence had not given birth to other lives but had rather reduced the consuming of this one to the total annihilation of the self.
Theseus once again broke the silence in a calm and angelic voice:
"You are the predator. It is in your nature to covet the other, but where you commit the irreversible is in coveting the other with malevolent desire. One does not feed on the innocent body of another without consequences for oneself. One does not satisfy their own hunger by consuming of the flesh and bones that one's own flesh would have rejected. Therefore, nothing in this world can belong to you exclusively since a part of yourself will certainly belong to the other in this approach. You have only one choice left: to desire goodness at all times."
Appalled by what had just occurred, the predator felt a vortex without refuge rage within him. Theseus’s words did not reach his brain as the darkened clouds of his childhood obscured his sight and his moral capacity. He felt lost, confused, terrified like the child who has lost a favourite toy. Puffing out his chest and opening his insatiable mouth wide, the predator roared: "Be silent, Theseus! It is from your heart that I shall feed tonight."
Certainly, he could not reach the conquered conqueror across the water that separated them, but he could certainly engulf the entire universe he had created. He would consume Theseus by consuming his own cavern. He was no longer subject to avarice. He could now give a part of his self to his own body and would seek another labyrinth to consume. Nothing was unattainable. The labyrinth’s body had belonged to him after all for decades, and he had never suffered from it. On the contrary, he had consumed of the innocent, of their villages and civilisations by following the same ritual: that of setting up a table and placing a cauldron on it, where a soup made of purple liquid began to brew...
With a swift movement, Theseus lowered the finger that had been pointing at the center of the heart to the enemy’s navel. He drew in energy and symbolism and drew an inverted scarlet rose before opening his palms upward and commanding the vault to open. Theseus’s entire army of angels descended suddenly and took their places around the cauldron. An exquisite aroma of anise and candy cane moved to the heavens and the soup turned a delicate shade of azure blue. The scarlet rose paled until it softened to a pink hue and resumed its original position. From above, the Angel Arcturus opened his wings and covered the predator with a golden offering. Hypnotised, the predator was no longer moving. Within his navel, all the universes he had previously engulfed began to escape one by one, and with each release, these words were whispered in his right ear:
"I forgive you, but ultimate forgiveness belongs to the Justiciar."
(To be continued )
THE SEVEN NATURES OF THESEUS
Chapter 2 - « To Eat, To Be Eaten »
5th August 2024
The strange cellar where he had found himself was redolent of the smell of damp ink. From the corner of his eye, Theseus followed the trail of the fireflies. They had translucent wings and an aura that was golden as they spun upon themselves, bringing forth onto the walls, all of the words and markings left behind by the sacrificed people; those who had dared to leave one final gift to their saviour: an unconfessed and unfinished dream.
Meanwhile, the ailing Predator had settled back with a perplexed look. Something was buzzing deep within him, in the spot Theseus's finger kept pointing. He had no heart, and this unusual tingling disturbed him just as much as his softened claws. He had no conscience either and had only the capacity for reflection provided by the gifts he had stolen over the years from the many villagers who had dared venture into his realm. Unfortunately, he quickly realised that none of the stolen gifts could provide him with the mental acuity needed to unravel the mystery of Theseus, the untamed warrior of the seas. Moreover, he possessed, by nature, a superhuman strength that he liked to believe was equal in strength to what the Sky above him would have – a forceful appropriation. Some would have certainly called it 'greed,' but the Predator disregarded such disparaging remarks, especially since he had grown accustomed to devouring any rebellious speaker that dared utter such words against him.
“I come in peace and would like to offer the gift of eternal pleasure to the twins Avarichio and Avarichia.”
Theseus’s calm voice traversed the space between them and ended the fleeting thoughts that evaporated into droplets above their heads. Pointing his finger at the Predator’s throat, he added, "They are waiting only for your permission to give them the right to bring into the body you carry, all the riches I have accumulated during my many journeys."
The Predator's thick lips stretched into a gluttonous and carnivorous smile: "Since you offer yourself to me so generously, Thus Shall It Be! ». And with that statement, the Predator let out a roar so fierce that two small, identically furry and plump black beasts birthed and took their first breaths onto the rocky ground. They had only two gaping holes for eyes, through which the remnants of embers from a garden they had once consumed remained visible. But what struck the most were their enormous ripping jaws, the steel colour of which contrasted starkly with the golden colour of the fireflies quietly babbling in a corner of Theseus’s wall. More gluttonous than the Predator but bound to his flesh and blood, the twins eagerly sought to sink their claws into the water and possess everything that was part of its nature. Confronted with the greed that defined them in meaning and name, they allowed their claws to soften, having eyes only for the one who had promised them eternity. The twins had no soul and had been forged from a single nature: that of devouring.
From the bottom of the junk, Theseus spotted a checkered cloth in which he had carefully wrapped a loaf of rustic bread and a pitcher of an azure blue liquid. He simultaneously offered the whole loaf to Avarichia with his right hand and a glass of the blue liquid to Avarichio with his left. Barely had he time to withdraw his own hands when the twins began to devour each other. The bread had become Avarichio's obsession and the liquid, Avarichia's possession.
Theseus brought his own glass to his lips and took a single sip of the liquid before saluting the Predator:
"To eat is also to be eaten… So be it."
(To be continued)
THE SEVEN NATURES OF THESEUS
Chapter 1 - « Conqueror conquered »
29th July 2024
Sitting at the far end of the junk, Theseus remained dutifully silent. He gazed at the fallen dreams of the innocent people. Their wishes for their ends of time had filled the entire enclave and were revealed as he sailed on. Enthusiastically drawn with clay brushes—departure gifts carefully bequeathed by the Predator, the master of the place, in honour of the ultimate sacrifice of the gift of life in exchange for the protection of a people—each drawing had left an indelible mark in the conquered memories of the cave.
Hidden behind a large black rock, the ailing Predator watched each of his movements with his one bloodshot and hungry eye. Mirroring Theseus in gesture and words, he too had remained silent. His bloated belly gurgled in pleasure. He would not resist the urge to sacrifice on the altar the one who had been mythically known as the indomitable warrior of the seas. It would be the ultimate gift he would grant to himself. He did not understand the heroic formation of this courageous traveler who, unlike the other sheep he had become accustomed to, had deliberately chosen to sail through the depths of the earth in order to find him.
The Predator felt a mocking smile rise within..
“Theseus, my dear Theseus, you are indeed in a sticky situation. You have reached the heart of my secret labyrinth. No one has ever found their way back till now, and I look forward to tasting your destiny, wrapping all of your memories within me, and satisfying myself with your gift of life.”
And with that said, the Predator raised his sacrificial paw and with a thunderous cry of war, attempted to seize the boat. The seven claws plunged into the water and emerged with blades that were much less pointed than before. Astonished, the Predator tried again and again to attack the boat, but the human form kept evaporating, and each mighty swipe of the claws plunging into the water further diminished the blades.
“Cursed one, what have you done to me!”
Theseus raised golden irises towards the flickering darkness of the Predator. A barely perceptible crown of a white aura hovered above them. In a calm and thoughtful voice, he replied:
“We are both at a difficult juncture, Predator… You will not reach me as I do not possess your seven passions. Alas, I too cannot reach you as none of my seven natures have ever been mapped into you. If we do not exist within each other, we cannot balance each other out… or, on the contrary, destroy each other.”
Panting, the Predator stood up in all his monstrous stature and greedily stared at the tiny hero before him.
“Pah! I do not believe one word of what you are saying. And what passions are you talking about then?”
Theseus delicately placed the two oars on the hull, carefully crossing them. Pointing towards the middle of the Predator’s chest, he stated:
“Your passion for avarice which has made the whites of your eyes redden, your passion for gluttony which makes you self-absorbed, your passion for fury which has made you grow claws instead of a heart, your passion for pride which makes you desire even that which is infertile, your passion for jealousy which leaves you gorging on others’ vitality. But above all, your passion for laziness which has shrunk your mind into nothing more than a stump of your brain.”
(To be continued)
EIRIK THE SEER
Chapter 3 - « My Muse Was The Blind One »
22nd July 2024
EIRIK, THE SEER
Chapter 3 – My Muse Was The Blind One
The secret mage’s voice poured into his ears:
« Yes, I see you, Eirik. Tell me who I am, and you will also see me. »
The animal instinct within him cowered before bowing its head to the ground. The Human was pushed to the front lines, regaining sovereignty over the body they were both occupying. And all that remained was the stillness of all the silver globe with its eras of creators and miscreations.
As the wolfpack’s essence slowly disintegrated, the forest’s eerie hurls also took a step backwards. The illusion was leaving yet Eirik the Seer held on tightly to his sword. Surrounded by the promise of the eternal kingdom, he felt the purest of light soaking in his entire being yet his whole being trembled at the understanding of what lay ahead. Eirik the Seer could neither see the present nor foresee the future. He would be forever chained to all of the pasts that his ancestors, children and grand-children would be generating
The mage’s deep voice rang out again:
“You can still be saved my child. See me as I am and you will remember who you are”
Eirik, the Seer looked all around him. He was still coated in a blanket of light. Maybe there would be hope for his destiny one day.
Taking in a deep breath, Eirik responded:
“Master, my will ordains me to not see that which is my given birthright and that which you offer to save me with today. I have failed on this path for the Skjöldung have marked me as one of their own … ”
(silence)
“Vanity sought out the point of my blade and my own greed eventually gave in to its demands. I foresaw my destiny as king of my own demise yet I also foresaw the future of my children and it is for them that I allowed myself to be marked. They will be the righteous kings of light of this world and together with their muses, they will travel far across the silver globe in search of each and every one of the philosopher’s stones. And when they do so, they will always see where the Skjöldung prey for I am the link to the source of that darkness. It is the one and only way.
The sword is imbued with my vanity but is also my identity. I am the mirror of my own self and my own eternal opponent. I do not believe that I can be saved anymore… but my children and my children’s children will be the saviours of all my people”
Eirik the Seer’s grip lightened. The sword was sheathed.
After a few minutes of contemplation, the Mage’s voice resonated again:
“But what of your Muse?”
Calmly, Eirik looked up towards the white skies:
“Master, it is my Muse who was the blind one.”
(The End)
EIRIK THE SEER
Chapter 2 - « See Me as I, Myself Sees You »
Eirik, the Seer, was fighting the memories of the ancient forest with all his might.
Trapped in this surreal panopticon, he understood that a circle was closing fast upon him. He had become the dominated despite being the successor. The forest was seeing him in all of his splendour and was engulfing him, but he would fight till the end. How strange it was to find himself subdued by a malicious force when he had earlier on himself selfishly taken possession of the nameless wolf cub's physical senses. The dead branches of the forest were reviving at the touch of his own memories and refused to let go. They called out to him with songs that roamed from the streets of the old worlds, rooting themselves deeper with each one of his attempts to be freed. Exhausted, Eirik struggled to rise towards the sky's surface as his sword unleashed. Yet, choosing to embody the wolf cub had not been a trivial decision. Its foundation was deeply ethical. The action was steeped in selfishness, but Eirik the Seer was not the Ego. He had acted thus to protect his people's secrets and sow discord within the ranks of Skjöldung... but at what cost, alas.
His human conscience had remained untouched until now, allowing him still to shed tears of faith whilst facing the mirror of self-identification. Resolute, he knew he could not let the power of animal instinct mingle with the elements of a hungry nature. Eirik's consciousness was still in charge of the wolf cub's senses, and at this moment, it was the nameless one's hearing that was put to task. Comforted by the arms of the village girl, the young wolf cub had fallen asleep and no longer identified with the wars raging within him. Nonetheless, the solemn voices of three of the village's eight white mages echoed clearly in Eirik the Seer's ears. He knew them well. First, there was the mage Virtus, the great defender of everything righteous in the world. Then, there was mage Plikt, who required every knight in his court to adhere strictly to moral imperatives at all times, and finally, the one who ruled with an iron spirit yet who was also the most just: mage Nytta, or the guardian of the realm of consequential ethics.
Eirik's heart raced. He was alone and unseen deep in the forest. Which of the three mages would see him for who he truly was? If Virtus chose him, taking possession of the wolf cub's body could be seen as an injustice to another's life, but he would accept this consequence nobly. If Plikt chose him, the ego would be chastised, and strict adherence to protecting his people's dignity would be demanded of him, which he would also fulfill with honor. But if Nytta chose him, he would be judged under the most supreme forms of justice: acting for the greater good of all at all times. Nytta’s judgement would not only look at whether each of his choices had been to the highest possible ethical degree but Nytta’s court itself would be under scrutiny as they could only judge based on Eirik’s highest good.
A deep voice suddenly interrupted his thoughts. The three mages had chosen their crusader, and a hand extended towards the sword as a divine offering.
« Yes, I see you, Eirik. Tell me who I am, and you will also see me. »
(To be continued...)
EIRIK THE SEER
Chapter 1 - « Heed the Wolf »
1st July 2024
Twas the night before the full moon and Eirik, the Seer had been made. His elongating ears burned with fire as the wrath of the knights of Skjöldung fought their way through his mind, through his heart, through his light. The wisdom of his forefathers’ past flashed in front of his eyes, a last attempt at guiding him into seeing into the future and manipulating the fate of his children, his civilisation, his universe.
“No!”
With a tremendous howl of despair, Eirik shifted in pace, in form, in energy…
A nameless wolf ran through the immensity of the darkness where towering mountains embraced the vastness of the forest. He had compartmentalised. Instinct was its ruler and consciousness but an invisible dot in space.
From beneath the sliver of the pale moonlight, he felt lonely, scared and willing to please. In the far distance, his sharp vision detected the glow of a crackling firewood.
Villagers!
Exhilarated, the nameless wolf sped on faster and faster towards his one remaining chance at survival. The closer he came to the village though, the shorter and plumper his body transformed.
A little girl sat at the edge of a glade, mesmerised by the chants of the ancient forest.
Suddenly, she dropped her bowl of food in delight at the sight of the small pup running straight towards her. She immediately scooped the latter up and held him close.
From within his disguise, the nameless wolf did not understand why but he felt rejoiced as the entirety of the forest lifted its veil and cloaked itself back inside of him.
The forest was after all part of the wolf himself. They would simply get lost within each other at times generating confusion as to who was the Master and who was the Seer.
The little girl remained unaware of these thoughts and crooned and cradled her newly made friend. She decided on the spot they would live together in her village and never wander out into the dangers that lay beyond. The village was the safest of havens after all, the only one that kept its inhabitants protected from the mysteries of the unending forest.
The nameless wolf closed its eyes and listened to the little girl’s innocent chattering. Inside of his mind though, a new battleground had formed…
(To be continued...)
MEETING WITH THE OTHER SELF
(Last part of The Stars of the Golden City trilogy)
24th June 2024
"Respond to the riddle, and wisdom will allow you to enter the glittering cave. If peace begins with oneself, what is the answer to its rebellion?"
The little man was deep in thought. What could be the best answer to such a cryptic riddle? Forgiveness, acceptance, mercy, release? He didn't quite know where to start since all the goodness in him indicated that each of his answers was right and best. Perhaps, above all, it was the acceptance of the situation, not as resignation, but as a recognition of the dark parts within him that he found difficult to accept, of all his inner conflicts he had to fight to reach harmony. By accepting his rebellion, he could transform it into creative energy, a drive towards healing and unity. The cave remained unmoved.
Standing up, he voiced each of his suggestions, one after the other, bringing them to life through his deep commitment, the power of his words, his intention, and his belief, but the cave still did not open. Desperate, he sat down and began to reflect again and again. The fingers of the lake had become motionless, the white letters clinging candidly to the surface. And as in every moment when he had lost faith and hope, he closed his eyes and called her... her, the angel with eyes as clear as the water, who mysteriously lived in his mind and heart since the beginning of his journey. An ancient melody gracefully interjected through the chaos of his thoughts, untangling them one by one, straightening each thread until destiny appeared to him once again. He did not understand the language she spoke. She seemed to come from another time and to connect him to it just as he transported her in his modern journeys and grounded her there.
Gradually, clarity emerged. He realized that rebellion, this tumultuous and destructive energy, was a reflection of inner disharmony. If peace began with oneself, then rebellion also found its source within him. The answer could only be the transmutation of this rebellion into a constructive force.
His other self whispered in his ear: "The answer is a return to the Self and thus a return to us both because only a restored identity can properly use everything that was originally offered by the union of love and light."
Opening his eyes, the little man felt a deep serenity engulf him. Turning to the cave, he firmly declared: "The answer to your question is a return to the true self, the one that awakens only in the presence of my other true self."
And he waited...
A thin beam of light touched his forehead. The cave was opening.
A SEARCH FOR THE CAVE OF ENLIGHTENMENT
(continued from the Stars of the Golden City)
17th June 2024
The little man couldn't believe his eyes. Before him stretched an infinite universe of golden light. From top to bottom, everything glittered. As each of his silent steps resonated, breathtaking in his own world, he felt marvelled by such fullness. Above him, the stars continued to fuel the golden city. They were gentle, affable, and provided him with a sense of security and peace that he had not felt during his arduous journey through the various planets.
The city sparkled with a thousand lights, but it was a welcome warmth as it warmed every wound of his valiant heart and every secret he had left behind ever since he had to left his home. A silent dance between the unknown and the familiar made him swirl. But the little man continued on his way. He had a mission to accomplish, and now he had to find the unique cave that glittered with the stars.
He soon found himself facing a murky opening, a deep cavity carved into the side of the mountain. The stars still twinkled above him, but he no longer felt their gentle warmth. There was no doubt in his mind. This was indeed the cave of awakening, the only one left for him to explore in order to illuminate the darkness and destroy it forever.
At the heart of the cave, a mirror of water glittered in the dim light. It was the lake of tranquility, of which the wise magician had spoken to him. Without hesitation, the little man knelt at the water's edge. Silence prevailed, offering a well-deserved respite to his restless mind.
The fingers of water quickly manifested themselves and feeling his aura, wrote back:
"Respond to the riddle, and wisdom will allow you to enter the glittering cave. If peace begins with oneself, what is the answer to its rebellion?"
(To be continued)
THE STARS OF THE GOLDEN CITY
10th June 2024
"The little man felt bathed in enchantment. Clinging to the robes of his beloved, his gaze tirelessly traced every ripple of water passing before him. The path to the mountain of wisdom had been strewn with thorns, but he had conquered the world, his inner world, through his faith and perseverance.
Tonight, the lake the magician had spoken of would be revealed to him, and there was no doubt left: true knowledge would eagerly blend with the gold and silver he had collected during his journey.
Earlier, a gentle breeze had delicately settled upon his fate and caressed his rosy cheeks. A tear ventured forth just as gently. With a pounding heart, he finally faced the lake. The mountain's silence provided him the required tranquility to quench his thirst with the clear water of eternal wisdom.
As for the soul of the little man, it awakened, eye followed by eye, to the great enchantment of the human clinging eagerly to life's shores. With a long sigh, the little man pulled towards him the feather of a goose, swiftly sliding it into the journal he had kept since his life on earth began.
The feather chuckled instantly, and from this blend emerged, under the lake's reflection, an unexpected landscape...
The Stars of the Golden City.